


The End of the Line

by DontTapTheGlass



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Catholic Steve Rogers, Character Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Nightmares, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tragic boyfriends, Where is thor?, alcohol use, basically this is pain, not even sorry, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontTapTheGlass/pseuds/DontTapTheGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wouldn’t call what I’m doing coping, really, because I’m… I’m a mess... I spent a month wasting away in Sam’s guest bedroom, then finally figured myself out maybe two weeks ago? Had to get it through my head that he was really gone, and once I did, I took a good long look at myself and what I was feeling.”<br/>“And what are you feeling, Sargent?”<br/>“I’m feeling like I’ve lost something crucial. My best guy is dead, that’s not something that sits easily on a man’s chest.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but my own plot.
> 
> This is probably full of grammatical and spelling errors, but I'll go back and edit it later. It's late, I'm tired, but I really wanted to post this tonight, sooo
> 
> enjoy~
    
    
    DAY 4

Bucky was drunk. Bucky was drunk as a fucking skunk. He was wasted, completely wasted. But he didn’t mind. It left him vulnerable, off-guard, open to anyone with a mind to attack, but he still continued to drink. And drink. And drink.

He thinks he was supposed to meet Natasha today. Something about Steve’s apartment… living arrangements… he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t care. He downs another shot.

The bartender sighed as Bucky slammed a wad of cash on the bar, a silent request to keep the booze coming. He pretended not to notice, dealing with other customers instead. Alcohol poisoning wasn’t a thing the bartender wanted to deal with tonight.

Yes, Bucky was a large guy, but he’d been sitting there since noon downing shot after shot after shot. With his slumped posture, red eyes, and pained expression, the bartender figured he needed the booze, but he needed to stop at some point. Bucky was a regular, always coming around with that other guy, Steve was it? Steve was missing from Bucky’s side, so the bartender figured they’d fought? Maybe broken up if they, you know, swung that way?

After a couple minutes, there was nothing the bartender can do but face him. He came up to Bucky and silently nudged the cash back towards him. He only looked up at him, his blue eyes burning with something that singed the poor bartender.

“I think it’s ‘bout time you went home, James,” he used Bucky’s name, the one he introduced himself with, not the one Steve always used with him. Bucky only continued to look at him, eyes slowly singeing him to a crisp. “We’re closin’ up in an hour anyways, not like you’ll be missing much. Just go home and get some sleep, okay?”

Bucky looked down at his empty shot glass, as if trying to work something out in his head. He lightly drummed his finger on the side of the glass, tapping out an unsteady beat with his flesh fingers, not the strange metal ones that the bartender had never been brave enough to ask about. He blinked slowly, worrying his lip between his teeth as he did so.

The door to the bar opened, letting in a cool night breeze, and two familiar faces entered. First was a pretty redhead, who took a glance around the bar before heading in Bucky’s direction, and right behind her was a dark skinned man who swore under his breath upon seeing Bucky.

“Figured I’d find you here,” the redhead stopped next to Bucky, looking annoyed but pitying. The man that came with her gently laid a hand on the shoulder covered in metal, leaning slightly so he could look at the drunk. Bucky simply raised his head to stare, but doesn’t speak.

“C’mon man, it’s late, time for bed,” the man said, grabbing the metal arm and giving him a gentle tug to get him to stand up, which he does, although shakily.

The redhead turned to the bartender, sighing. “Is there any tab I need to cover for him or did he pay it?”

“Nope, he’s a pretty responsible drunk, payin’ for his drinks and all,” the bartender said, not mentioning how he indeed wasn’t responsible for drinking as much as he did without any means of getting home. The redhead only nodded, helping the man who’d slung Bucky’s metal arm over his shoulder by promptly slinging his flesh arm over her shoulder.

The trio stumbled from the bar, leaving behind the confused and slightly concerned bartender.

 
    
    
    DAY 10

Bucky doesn’t leave his room anymore. Sam had allowed him to stay in the extra bedroom, so he went in there after the bar incident and hadn’t come out since.

Everyday Sam would get home, make something for dinner, and bring a plate into Bucky’s room. It was always the same, with Bucky curled up on the seat below the window as he stared blankly out at Sam’s garden. Sam was sure Bucky didn’t actually see anything worth looking at. He’d drop the plate of food on the table next to the bed, beside the plate he’d dropped off yesterday, which by then would be maybe a quarter eaten if even that.

Then, he’d sit.

He’d sit on the bed and try to speak to the Soldier, Bucky, whoever he’d turned into these days. It’d start by asking questions. _“How are you feeling? Do you need anything? What are you looking at out there?”_ There was never a response.

So he’d go on to tell Bucky about his day, always leaving some opportunities for Bucky to interject or answer a question.

_“On my jog this morning there was a deer in the middle of the park, but I have no idea where it came from. There’s not any forests around, I don’t think. Do you have any ideas?”_ Bucky ignored him and continued looking out the window.

_“Tony found some letters from those Howling Commandos you and Steve were with. They were written couple of years after the war, probably some sort of therapy for them or something. There’s some addressed to you, I can bring them to you if you want… Maybe you can try writing a letter… Maybe it’ll help.”_

Bucky would always remain silent.

By that point Sam would go about cleaning up the room, telling Bucky about the rest of the Avengers as he made the bed and picked up dishes and returned any books to bookshelves that Bucky had thrown about the room in a rage at some point earlier in the day. He’d always tell Bucky the good things, never the bad things.

_“Clint left this morning, went back to his farm. Damn redneck. He left his contact information, if you wanna call him or something. It’s nice that he’s visiting the kids and stuff. Especially with the baby. His birthdays on Wednesday, turning one year old. They sure grow up fast.”_

_“Bruce got Tony to start working in the lab again. He still doesn’t seem that into it, but hey, it’s better than sitting mindlessly in front of the TV, right? He even started working on that new arm he said he’d make you. It’s only been two months since he said he would.”_

He didn’t tell Bucky that Natasha and Clint had stopped talking after a huge fight that resulted in an overturned bookshelf and a broken piano. He didn’t mention that Tony was still waking up in the middle of the night screaming, and that Bruce was stooping back into that place where he saw no light, no hope, no life worth living. And of course he stayed silent about how nobody had even heard from Thor since… Well, since…

After about three hours of talking and cleaning and caretaking, Sam would take the dishes and the trash and leave the room, closing the door behind him. He’d wash dishes, watch some TV, maybe try to work on some project. He went to bed earlier than he had in the past, and woke up earlier than he wanted to. In the morning he’d make toast, and drop it off in Bucky’s room quietly. Bucky would be asleep, buried in the blankets of the bed and twitching every so often.

Then, Sam would go to work, help Soldiers with PTSD although he couldn’t even help his friend who was living in his extra room.

And so the days continued. On and on and on.

 
    
    
    DAY 18

Sam woke to the sound of screaming. A blood-curdling scream that chilled him to his very core. He was up in an instant, running down the hall and into the extra bedroom. Bucky, it was Bucky screaming.

He burst open the door and found Bucky thrashing around in his blankets, as if he were drowning and trying to get to the surface. Sam rushed to the bed, quickly grabbing blankets and shoving them off of the still sleeping Bucky. The sleeping Soldier still continued to flail, almost punching Sam before he caught his wrists.

“James! James! Wake up!” he shouted, fighting to still the arms that refused to be tamed by his grasp. “Goddammit, James!”

Then, all at once, he stilled, gasping heavily and staring at Sam like he was some sort of alien. Sam sighed heavily, giving the soldier a genuine smile of relief. Bucky stared at him and stared at him, lowering his arms, Sam’s hands still gripping his wrists. He snapped into a sitting position, making Sam jump and release his wrists. He then started to babble.

“Steve… he was… he was just…” words didn’t want to come from Bucky’s mouth, but he spoke anyways. “I couldn’t get to him- he was so- so far and…”

That was when Bucky started crying, breaking off into a round of small sobs that seemed to wrack his large frame. Sam for a moment didn’t know what to do. Bucky didn’t like being touched unless it was by a certain Captain, that was common knowledge, but words weren’t going to be enough for him at this point. He was too far gone for a few “It’s going to be okay, you’re a strong person”-s to calm him.

But he apparently didn’t have to try anything, for Bucky dropped his head onto Sam’s shoulder, crying and crying as he weakly gripped the veteran’s sleeve. Sam froze for a moment, surprised by the Soldier’s sudden willingness to touch. But after the fact processed that indeed, Bucky was crying into his shoulder, seeking comfort, Sam rested one hand on Bucky’s back, and with the other started gently stroking his fingers through the greasy chocolate tresses of Bucky’s hair.

“Why? Why did it have to be him? Why Steve?” Bucky’s words were muffled by the fabric of Sam’s shirt, but he heard it louder and clearer than anything else had been lately. “Why couldn’t it just have been me?”

Sam didn’t respond, he can’t respond. He just tightened his hold on the shaking figure of a broken man and feels tears building in his own eyes. This is what happens when the strongest people in his life start crumbling, he all of a sudden has to become the strong one. He hates it. He hates it so much.

Neither of them get much sleep that night.

 
    
    
    DAY 22

When Sam comes home one evening, Bucky is sitting at his kitchen table. His hands were folded neatly on the table, his head bowed forward ever so slightly. For a moment Sam thought he’d fallen asleep at the table, but then he saw his lips moving.

Prayer. That was the last thing Sam expected from the Soldier. Maybe it was a sign that this was actually Bucky, not the Soldier. But he’d never even seen Bucky praying. The only one who was regularly religious was… well, was Steve.

The dots connected quickly.

Sam stood in the doorway for what seemed like forever, waiting for Bucky to finish. He needed this, Bucky did. Sam could recognize that. After an eternity, Bucky raised his head, face blank as it was when he looked out the window day after day after day.

Slowly, Sam entered the room, making sure to let his footsteps be heard by the Soldier, Bucky, whoever he was right now. Bucky didn’t turn around, didn’t focus on Sam until he crossed in front of him to sit across the table from him. Bucky locked his eyes on him, and Sam found himself reminded of the first time he encountered Bucky. That day on the bridge, with Bucky and his men tearing up anything nearby as they fought with him, Natasha and Steve. The look in Bucky’s eyes, like he was staring at a target, like he was angry, murderous, smoldering, but _scared_. He looked like a caged animal. He wanted out.

“Hey,” is all Sam offers at first, testing the waters.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice sounds hoarse, sore.

“How are you feeling?” it’s the same question Sam had been asking over and over. The question Sam always led with when he entered Bucky’s room. He had yet to receive an answer.

Bucky let out a short breathy laugh, one that seemed unamused. “I feel like the world is ending,” he gives his response that was a long time coming. He continues to speak in the same even, calculated voice he used when he first came to the Avengers, like he had to remember how to speak for himself. “I feel guilty. I feel angry. I feel like I’ve lost something I can’t live without.” He looks at Sam, and Sam can feel the genuineness pouring from him. “Godammit, Sam, I’m… I’m scared.”

Bucky’s flesh knuckles are white, his hands still folded on the table. He’s tense. Sam chooses his next words carefully.

“Why are you scared?”

Bucky’s eyes soften, melting into a look of grief and heartbreak. Sam almost tells him he doesn’t have to answer. Bucky, the strongest man Sam knew. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“Steve is… He’s… He was everything but- but now…” Bucky’s voice cracks and he coughs sheepishly. He fiercely wipes below his eyes, trying not to let Sam see he was crying. “C-Captain Amer… Steve’s…”

“Bucky,” Sam said gently, hoping he didn’t give Bucky such a pitying look. “You have to say it. You have to make it real.”

Bucky swallows a lump in his throat, running his hands through his hair, a habit Sam had noticed a long time ago he did when he didn’t want to say something. “Steve Rogers is… dead…”

“And why does that scare you?” Sam asks, feeling like an asshole but also knowing Bucky needs to say some things out loud.

Bucky stared at Sam for a good long minute before saying it. “Because I loved him… I loved him and now I’m alone. I can’t be in this century without him, Sam, I just can’t.”

He sniffles loudly, wiping at his cheeks, trying to get some control over himself again. Sam gives him a moment, he waits until Bucky looks him in the eye again.

“Will you do me a favor?” he asks. Bucky doesn’t respond, only looking at Sam peculiarly. “Will you talk to Tony?”

 
    
    
    DAY 23

For the first time in twenty-something days, Bucky showered. He turned on the water hot enough to burn himself, ignoring the sensation of being boiled alive as he mechanically washed his hair.

He dressed in casual clothing, a pair of dark jeans and a maroon long sleeve shirt. He dragged a brush through his hair, the long locks reaching slightly below his shoulders. For a long moment he looked at his reflection in the mirror, staring himself and thinking _Is this really me?_ He grunted, snapping himself out of it, and roughly tied his hair into a messy ponytail.

When he stepped out of his bedroom Sam was waiting at the kitchen table, staring out the window as he had done for so long, a cup of coffee in his hands. Bucky guesses it’s cold.

“Sam?” he stepped further into the kitchen, catching Sam’s attention. The veteran looked up at him, flashing a smile that said _don’t worry, I’m fine._

“Hey, you ready to go?” he straightened up, stretching and standing to go dump his coffee. Bucky was right, it must’ve been cold.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The drive to Stark Tower was long and silent. It took about five hours by car, which was especially long considering that Sam usually flew up here when he had to see Tony or any of the others, which took all of an hour and a half. But he figured flying would only increase Bucky’s already unsettled nerves, so he stuck with a car drive into Manhattan.

About thirty minutes from their destination, Bucky broke the heavy silence.

“What do you want me to say to him?” he asked, not looking over at Sam.

“Whatever you think you need to say.”

_As if that’s helpful,_ thought Bucky in his head. The rest of the ride was silent.

Upon arriving at the tower, JARVIS let Sam and Bucky into the private garage to park. The elevator up was silent, and when they reached the top floor where the living room was, the silence was only broken by the ding of the elevator announcing their arrival. The two used-to-be soldiers stepped out of the elevator and instantly Bucky’s eyes locked on the tentative figure of Doctor Banner.

“Sam, James, nice to see you,” Dr. Robert “Call me Bruce” Banner greeted them, stepping forward and giving them an awkward smile. The Soldier that remained in Bucky assessed Banner quickly, from the bags under his eyes to the craggily bitten nails and bandages around his arms. These observations fitted with previously obtained information on the doctor made Bucky’s stomach twist in concern, pity and yes, a little bit of fear.

“Bruce, how’re you doing?” Sam smiled in that same professional way he did at his therapy patients as he stepped up to shake Banner’s hand.

“Fine, I’m just fine,” he seemed to shrivel at Sam’s touch. _Liar_ , Bucky thought, _why’re you lying to a therapist?_ “Tony’s just finishing something up in the lab, he’ll be up in a second. Um, we can just sit down in the living room for now.”

The men migrated to the couches, Sam sitting next to Bucky with Banner across from them. From there Bucky only noticed more off about the Doctor as him and Sam exchanged small-talk. His typical nervous tics were seemingly magnified, and he kept scratching at the bandages at his arm then wincing and flinching his hands away from them. He kept trying to make himself small.

After some minutes of small-talk the elevator slid open to reveal a certain billionaire.

“Tony,” Banner smiled at the sight of him, and it was a real smile. Bucky took note and tuned into the conversation around him.

“Hey,” the typically rambling playboy was rather tight-lipped. He gave Banner a slight smile and sat next to him on the couch, trying to look as relaxed as he normally was. Bucky could see through his act like glass.

“How you been?” Sam asked, and Bucky started to wonder if he did that to everyone—asked them questions about their feelings when they didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Same as last time you asked,” Stark sounded annoyed, cluing Bucky in that yes, Sam _did_ pester everyone about sharing their feelings. He turned his attention to Bucky. “Are you here about the arm? I’m making it now, it’s going to be a very nice arm. You want to see the prototype? It has no weaponry or anything, but hey, who said you really need that sort of stu-“

“I’m not here about my arm,” Bucky interrupted Stark’s babbling. The billionaire stopped talking, instead just staring at Bucky with his lips in a hard set line, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed nervously.

Banner looked between the two men and coughed uncomfortably. He looked at Sam. “Ah, how’d you like something to drink, Sam?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam agreed a little too enthusiastically. The two of them practically jumped off the couch, scurrying from the living room to the kitchen. Neither spoke until both of them were completely out of the room.

Bucky looked to Stark, who looked after Banner and Sam as they left. Bucky spoke first.

“How many times has he tried?”

Stark’s head snapped towards him, looking at him in confusion. “Tried what?” he snapped. Bucky didn’t know if he was playing stupid or if he honestly didn’t see it.

“To off himself.”

The effect on Stark was instant, the billionaire shriveling slightly at the words and glancing at the door where Banner and Sam left. The sick feeling in Bucky’s stomach only worsened.

“Only once,” Stark’s voice was tight. “But he isn’t taking any of this well. I can’t say I blame him though.”

“You… You haven’t tried… right?”

He froze. His stare was hard, his body rigid. He scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. “Don’t act like you know me, Barnes. I’m not that frag-“

“Stark,” Bucky stared at him. “Tell me you haven’t.” The playboy stared, as if calculating. It was a trained weapon against a weapons maker; there was no room for lies in the suddenly too small room.

“I haven’t. Can’t find the energy to care if I live or die,” Stark stared, and Bucky only nodded. The genius continued to speak. “It was my fault, all of it was. It was my weapons, my battle, my stupid mistake,” he let out something between a chuckle and a sob. ”I was so close to him, Bucky, I could’ve reached out and grabbed him, but I just- I froze. I froze and I just watched without doing anything. I could’ve done something, but I didn’t do _anything._ ”

Stark stared at his hands in his lap, his fingers clenching themselves into tense fists. Anger, Stark was angry with himself. Bucky knew the feeling.

“Did you know they were Hydra when you sold it to them?” Bucky asked.

“I had no idea. I didn’t even know those weapons were up for sale, I thought the military had taken control of them,” Stark rubbed his eyes tiredly. “If I had just grabbed him he’d still be here. I could’ve just picked him up and flown away, but I just couldn’t move. I should’ve-“

Stark abruptly stopped talking. He tilted his head up to rest against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. He shook, more like shivered, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the super soldier.

“You keep seeing it in your head, don’t you? Every time you close your eyes you see him dying over and over like a broken record,” Bucky’s voice was low and urgent. “You can barely sleep because its worst at night, when you lose control of your consciousness and suddenly Steve is dying over and over, and you know no matter what you do you can’t save him. And you keep thinking to yourself, why am I a hero if I can’t even save my friends?”

Stark dropped his head back down to look at Bucky, eyes a little too blank, a little too empty. He stares, and for a moment Bucky wonders if he’s going to yell at him. But he doesn’t.

“You sound like Sam,” is what he says instead, and it’s enough to make Bucky let out a short laugh and Tony cracks a smile.

“Maybe I’ve been spending a little too much time around him,” his lips fall into a small smile. “But hey, he gives me food and a place to stay, so I’m not complaining.”

“You could stay here if you wanted,” Stark said, and it takes Bucky a moment to process exactly what those words mean, but Stark’s already off on a rant, so Bucky can’t speak up. “We got a lot of extra rooms here, and it’s only me and Bruce living here now, everyone else left. I have any type of food you want, and I’m not a terrible cook if you’re interested. You can help on designs for your arm, maybe test out some of our machinery, you know, if you wanted…”

Stark trailed off, looking to Bucky for any look of consideration or rejection or anything really. As always, though, his face was Soldier straight. Brainwashing tended to do that to people.

“Okay,” Bucky seemed surprised at himself as he said it, and Stark’s face broke into a smile.

“Wait, really?”

“If Sam agrees that it’s a good idea, then yes,” Bucky nodded, giving him a half-hearted smile of his own. Stark deflated a bit at that, but then again, that response is better than he thought he’d get.

“Okay, yeah, good,” Stark smiled lightly, nodding at the Soldier- Bucky. “I’ll make the arrangements, you can be fully moved in by next week if you want. Let’s go ask Sam then.”

And so they did ask.

Sam loved the idea.

 
    
    
    DAY 28

The first night away from Sam, Bucky sleeps in the bed that used to be Steve’s. It still carries his scent, still has his rosary in the bedside table, and Bucky cries himself to sleep.

He wakes up to the sight of a figure in the doorway, the clock showing the early hour, three am.

“Stark?” Bucky called out, his voice cracking from sleep. The man in the doorway leaned heavily against the frame, and Bucky thinks he can smell the scent of alcohol from where he lays. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“I just… I wasn’t going to tell you, but Coulson called the night after Steve… After Steve died…” Stark’s voice cracked at the word died. “He told me that Steve was his hero… and he said he’s sorry for my loss…”

There’s a lapse of silence as Bucky tries to find words to respond. Stark wipes at his eyes, wiping away tears that he doesn’t want Bucky to see. He feels empty, and maybe that’s the booze or maybe it’s the death, but he kind of feels like ripping his lungs out of his chest. He’s already practically missing a heart, might as well take the lungs as well, right? Might as well just finish it…

“What did I lose?” Stark asked, laughing through his tears. “What’s he so sorry about?”

“C’mere,” Bucky rolls over to one side of Steve’s bed, folding back some blanket as he does so. It’s an invitation, he knows Stark will understand that. But he just looks at Bucky for a few seconds, heartbreak evident on his face. “I don’t bite, Stark, now come here.”

And so he does. And they both fall asleep in Steve’s bed, backs barely touching as they face opposing walls. Bucky pretends he doesn’t hear Stark crying.

He had to wonder, though, if Stark used to crawl into Steve’s bed before the Captain moved to DC, during nights when he’d drink himself into oblivion. He wondered if Tony buried himself in Steve’s comforter after he died, after he couldn’t save him.

Bucky doesn’t sleep well that night.

 
    
    
    DAY 32

The first time Steve kissed him, Bucky was nineteen years old. And that’s a simple fact, that Steve was the one to kiss Bucky. Imagine that.

It was Valentine’s Day, and Steve had been talking about how he was going to be working that night, so there was no chance for a double date like they normally did. Of course, Bucky was a little disappointed, but he knew this was probably Steve trying to get out of another painfully lonely holiday, so he just nodded and said maybe they could do something later that weekend then.

When he came home that night, it was late, probably midnight, maybe later. The girl he’d brought out wasn’t particularly friendly, and in the end he’d dumped her at nine o’clock and went to the bar after that. He wasn’t drunk by any means, but he was a little bit buzzed.

He figured Steve would’ve been home by then, since the market he worked at was only open until ten, but he was nowhere in their meager little apartment. So Bucky ended up crashing on the couch, having fallen asleep waiting for Steve to return from wherever Steve was.

The sound of the door closing is what woke him up later, probably about two am. Steve hobbled in, a shadow in the moonlit room, and was about to enter the bedroom when he saw Bucky, who slowly sat up on the couch. He turned his body towards the barely awake figure on the couch, crossing his arms and though it was too dark to see, Bucky knew his expression was one of amusement.

“You get ditched or something? Didn’t expect you to be home,” Steve’s voice is quiet in the silence, as if afraid of breaking the perpetual stillness.

“Naw, just didn’t think much of the dame, that’s all,” Bucky’s voice was harsher in the silence. “Dropped her off at home at nine, spent a couple a’ hours at the bar then came home. What about you? Where’ve you been?”

“Out,” is the only explanation he offered in response. He took a few steps closer to the couch, standing in front of his sleepy friend. “What’re you doing on the couch?”

Bucky chuckled, looking up at Steve from his perspective sat on the couch. And wasn’t that weird, looking _up_ at Steve? Of course it wasn’t that much higher than Bucky’s eyes, but it was still a different perspective. “Waiting up for you,” he said, and he swears he sees Steve flinch at those words. “Really though, where were you?”

“I told you, I was out, Buck-“

“Out where? Like… like _out_ with someone? Or just out?” Bucky watched Steve closely, slightly worried for his friend. He was never out that late, never that Bucky had noticed. Steve turned slightly red at Bucky’s accusations.

“I stopped at Joe’s on the way home, okay? Time kinda got away from me, but I figured you wouldn’t even be home,” Steve quickly explained, looking down at Bucky menacingly. Bucky liked looking at Steve from down low, he decided. It made him seem more powerful, more _Steve_ -like.

"What were you doing at Joe’s for so long?”

“Nothing, alright? We were just talking?”

“Talking about what?”

“You’re being a pain in the ass, you know that?” Steve said, but Bucky could hear the smile in his voice, so he smiled too. “Really, Buck, it was just me trying to not stay home feeling sorry for myself. And Joe’s a nice guy.”

“Don’t need to feel sorry for yourself, Stevie,” Bucky’s eyes softened, the smile falling from his face as he leaned back against the couch.

“You’re right, everyone else already does that for me.”

“I don’t,” Bucky fixed him with a hard stare, and Steve returned the gaze with pitiful eyes that were filled with something Bucky couldn’t put his finger on. “I’ve never felt sorry for you, Steve. You’re the greatest guy I know, really.”

And that was when Steve kissed him, leaning down to where Bucky sat on the couch and gently pressing his lips to his. For a moment Bucky couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think anything but _Steve’s kissing me. Little Catholic Stevie is kissing me._ And then, once it processed, he gently wove his fingers through Steve’s hair and kissed back with as much as he could.

That is what he does not tell Tony when he asks if Bucky’s ever been in a serious relationship. He doesn’t mention the nights spent with Steve, the stolen kisses in the trenches, the promises they thought they could never fulfill, no, instead he just prompts, “Define serious.”

Tony only laughs and takes another swig of his bottle.

Bruce excuses himself from the table and goes to bed.

 
    
    
    DAY 36

Bucky always hated interviews. He didn’t see why people needed to question him, to get into his personal life. Bruce and Natasha felt much the same. Tony normally loved them, Clint was indifferent, and Sam loved it because it made him feel special, but thirty six days after Steve’s death, nobody was really up to it.

Yet there they sat, the Avengers, if they were even still that, in some private interview studio with a woman Bucky couldn’t remember the name of. They were sat in two rows, Tony, Natasha and Sam in the front row, and Clint, Bruce and Bucky in the back.

All of the world knew Steve was dead, but they had yet to receive a response from the team since then, so this was the interview the world was waiting for. This would be seen by anyone who ever even cared a little bit about Captain America, anyone who grew up reading their Grandfather’s comics and never quite believing him when he said that the super hero was real, not until he was thawed out and presented to them as a savior again. This was supposed to be America’s closure.

The tension was thick in the room, with Natasha and Clint sitting as far away from each other as possible in the small studio and a threatening aura surrounding Bucky, but the interviewer attempted to keep them from killing each other or her.

“I just want to start out by saying how sorry I am for your loss, it was no secret how much Captain Rogers cared for all of you,” she said this the instant they sat down, and Bucky was surprised to see she was telling the truth by the solemn expression on her face. “If I step over any boundaries with my questions today, you have every right to refuse answering, I completely understand. Some of these are questions sent in from fans, so really, if any are too much, please just tell me.”

Natasha, Bruce, Clint and Sam just nod, accepting her sympathy graciously, but Tony and Bucky are taken aback, surprised at the honest sorrow in her voice. As the interview officially begins and the cameras start rolling, the sympathetic woman before them turns into a journalist selling a story, but still remains respectful. She goes through a simple intro, then starts with a question directed to the whole team.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the day of Captain Roger’s death?”

For a moment there is only silence, each of them reliving the moment he died. The sounds of citizen’s panic, Steve barking out an order, a snarky comment, the hum of a weapon charging, Iron Man’s jets as he neared the Captain-

Clint speaks first.

“He was so happy that morning,” he begins, eyes fixed on some far off point as he speaks. “He walked into the kitchen, smile on his face, said good morning, and started telling me about some show he’d watched the night before,” he laughed at that, trying to hold onto that memory, not the one of Steve flying backwards into the glass of an office building, a hole in his chest, right where his red white and blue heart would’ve been.

“He was in a joking sort of mood,” Natasha tacked on, noticing how Clint dropped off. The two agents locked eyes for only a moment. “He kept on laughing, making jokes, being the idiot he generally is. When he heard who it was that we were fighting, he said _not again_ like it was nothing, it made me laugh at least...”

The five of them lapsed back into silence, not wanting to continue explaining, because after that was… was the fight and Steve’s death. The image of Steve’s unblinking eyes, red soaked suit, bloodied flesh-  


“I kept telling him, over and over, that he wasn’t invincible,” Sam says this and shakes his head. “But he kept saying he had to do something, he had to hold them off until the building was cleared…”  


“He saved two hundred and fourteen people’s lives holding off Hydra for that long,” Clint offers.

The silence is back again with a vengeance, and the interviewer asks her next question.

“Mr. Stark, according to witnesses, you were closest to Captain Rogers before his death,” she says, and Tony flinches, practically shaking already. “Can you give us any details on the Captain’s death?”

Tony stares at her, eyes unblinking. He looks hallow, and it scares the majority of the team, it really does. He averts his eyes to the floor, taking a deep breath and saying-

“He saw the beam before I did, stared it in the face. He kept looking at it, and before I knew what was happening he was blown backward by the shot,” Tony’s voice is quiet, broken compared to the playboy he typically presented himself as to the media. “There was almost a… a pause when he saw it, like the entire world stopped. He just kind of froze and got this real peaceful look on his face, muttered something, and then he was gone,” Tony swallowed thickly, glancing up at the interviewer. “Captain Steve Roger’s last words were _‘I guess this is the end of the line.’_ I have no idea what that means.”

Bucky flinches next to Clint, having to close his eyes for a moment to reign in the emotional reaction the words had stirred in him. When he opens his eyes Bruce is glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. It’s understanding in his eyes, and for a moment that doesn’t make sense to Bucky until he sees the doctor tug his sleeves down farther over his bandages.

The interviewer moves onto the next question.

“Sargent Barnes, you grew up with the Captain, and by some miracle ended up here and now with him. It’s been no secret that you and he supported each other throughout the struggle of being misplaced in time. How are you coping without your best friend in this time period?”

Bucky smiles sadly, rubbing his flesh hand over the metal arm that isn’t really him. “I wouldn’t call what I’m doing coping, really, because I’m… I’m a mess,” he looks at the back of Sam’s head in front of him. “I spend a month wasting away in Sam’s guest bedroom, finally figured myself out maybe two weeks ago? Had to get it through my head that he was really gone, and once I did, I took a good long look at myself and what I was feeling.”

After a beat the interviewer asks “And what are you feeling, Sargent?”

“I…” Bucky just stared at her for a moment. “I’m feeling like I’ve lost something crucial. My best guy is dead, that’s not something that sits easily on a man’s chest.”

The rest of the questions go by in a blur, Bucky getting caught up in his own head and ignoring the rest of the interview. “What’s next for the team?” and “What do you wish to see Captain America’s legacy become?” and “Would you support another super soldier serum if the government could create it?”

In the end, the cameras stop rolling, the interviewer thanks them for their time, and that’s when Bucky has to furiously wipe at his eyes to stop the tears.

\--

When they get home, Bucky says to Tony “You never told me Steve said that,”

And Tony says “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

And Bruce excuses himself to his room to go to bed.

 
    
    
    DAY 37

The next morning Bruce wakes up with green in his vision.

It goes away after a moment, but it’s enough to scare himself. He rubs his hand over his face and stares up at his ceiling, scratching at his bandages idly.

He says to the ceiling “What’d you do to Tony?”

But it occurs to the AI system that maybe he’s not talking to the ceiling, so his question goes unanswered.

\--

Bucky walks into the living room that morning to find Clint and Natasha sitting on the couch, coffee in their hands, just sitting and watching the sun rise above the skyline. It’s peaceful. It’s forgiveness. Bucky’s not quite sure what happened between them after Steve’s death, but what he does know is that it doesn’t matter now. They’re a team, they always have been.

He leaves the room, and when he comes back, Natasha is leaned on Clint’s shoulder, her shoulders shaking as the archer just rubs slow circles into her back and kisses her forehead. Bucky is a lot of things, but he isn’t an ass, so he leaves the room to give them their privacy.

 
    
    
    DAY 38

 A little over a month after the Captain’s death, Bucky speaks with a writer. She’s a nice woman, dedicated to the facts and the story, not the images of a patriot with a shield. She contacted Sam first, but was quickly pointed to Bucky, who only sighed and agreed, albeit grudgingly.

 Her name is Rebecca, like his sister, and she first tells him that she’s sorry for his loss, then that she wants to tell a story about Steve Rogers, not Captain America. Bucky only nods. She asks him to start at the beginning, a recording device on the table between them.

 So he does.

 He tells her about the day they met, when he barely got Steve’s scrawny ass out from the middle of a fight. He tells her of helping him with homework (Steve never could get the hang of math), the nights spent on couch cushions in Steve and his ma’s apartment, and the days spent at Prospect Park, Steve with a sketch book and himself with a book. He tells her of Steve drawing him like he was a superhero, fit with a mask and funny outfit. He told her that he always felt like the sidekick next to him though, with Steve’s blind sense of justice and bravery getting both of them into trouble.

 Double dates, Steve almost dying over and over due to fights and illness, Christmas Mass, Steve’s comic creating that never really got much of anywhere- he tells it all to her, and she smiles the entire time, loving every word from his mouth.

 But then he stops, thinks for a long moment. Of course, Rebecca thinks this is going to be when he tells her about the war, about Steve, now _Captain America_ , finding him on Zola’s table. But what he says instead surprises her.

 “Stevie… if you want the story of Steve, you should know that he never went much with girls- never had much of an interest to,” he said, watching the gears shift in Rebecca’s head at his words. “He… well, he thought of girls, sure, but he, uhm…”

 “Sargent Barnes, I’m sorry, but are you going to tell me Captain America was _gay?_ ” she asks, looking more intrigued than before.

 “I think he called it bisexual, actually,” Bucky said with a small laugh. “You see, the first time… the first time Stevie kissed me, I was nineteen years old…”

 
    
    
    DAY 40

Clint and Natasha come into the tower early one morning and leave with Tony. Bruce and Bucky wait around in the living room until they come back, unsure as of what to do without the billionaire to talk to. It’s almost noon when he comes back holding a large box.

He hands it to Bucky, then goes and sits next to Bruce close enough so their shoulders touch. Bruce smiles slightly at this.

For a long couple of moments Bucky just stares at the box, then carefully he opens it, removing the flaps of the box and then removing the heavy object inside.

He stares at it for a few long moments, eyes skimming over every detail of the object in his hands- Steve’s shield. The paint is worn on it, the leather straps are soft from use, but it’s his. It’s Steve’s.

Bucky looks up at Tony, who only smiles at him, and it’s a genuine smile, one that is warm and personal, like he knows what’s going on in Bucky’s head. He doesn’t, but it reminds Bucky of how Tony used to be, before Steve died. Bruce is looking at Tony like he’s made of miracles, awe and relief and a hint of longing playing over his features.

“What’s this for?” is all Bucky can think to ask. Tony’s smile falters some, but he doesn’t let his gaze waver.

“In Steve’s will, he said something pretty profound, and we’ll let you decide whether or not to accept it,” his expression was making Bucky’s heart crawl up his throat.

“What is it?” Bucky’s vice sounds strained even to his own ears.

“He declared you’re the next Captain America if you so accept the title.”

And Bucky almost laughs when he says “Of course.”

 
    
    
    DAY 256

On July 4th, _The End of The Line: The Life and Death of Captain Steven Rogers_ by Rebecca Dungan was published.

 
    
    
    DAY 257

On July 5th, Bucky Barnes presents himself to the world for the first time as Captain America.

There’s two flags planted in front of Captain America’s grave site. One is for his country, the other for his love.  
Bucky thinks Steve would’ve been proud.


End file.
